Grievance
by Sexysaxist
Summary: Grace Van Pelt suffers a family loss, and Rigsby is sent to look after her. Turns out he is pretty good a comforting a certain grieving woman. Rated T on the safe side, slight language, mild seriously adult descriptions. One-shot Complete


**A/N This darn story just wouldn't leave me alone. Wouldn't let me work or sleep. Slightly angsty sugar shock fluff. Get a tooth brush and some insulin. **

**The San Diego Chargers really will be playing the Oakland Raiders on Monday night this season on Sept 14****th**** in Oakland. I am a die hard Green Bay Packers fan. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or any of the NFL teams mentioned. They make money from me, not the other way around.**

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It was Monday and Grace was late for work.

This was noteworthy because Rigsby could count on no hands how many times she'd been late since she was hired. She was NEVER late for work. Jane and Cho were busy speculating about traffic, but that wasn't possible. She only lived 6 miles away, and Rigsby had already checked the police scanner for any accidents.

It took a few minutes, 15 in fact, for Lisbon to catch onto the anomaly of Graces' untimely absence, and the fact that she hadn't called. Rigsby was worried, much more so than anybody else apparently. He paced the windows watching the gate for her car. On the third pass, he finally noticed that her Jeep was already in the parking lot, at the far end, not where she normally parked.

"She's here." He said absently. It came out louder than he intended, as everyone snapped to attention.

"What do you mean she's here?" Lisbon asked. What kind of a dumb question is that, Rigsby wondered.

"She's sitting in her car, I can see her legs hanging out the open door."

"Then why isn't she up here? We have a case to get on."

Yeesh, Lisbon was impatient today. "Hang on a minute, and I'll go find out." Rigsby called over his shoulder as he left the bullpen and headed for the elevator.

Once down stairs, Rigsby made his way to the back corner of the parking lot. 6 cars away from Grace's jeep, he was able to distinguish the sound of crying, and he hoped it wasn't her. He picked up his pace, rounded the corner of the SUV next to her, to find that is was indeed Grace crying. Her phone was open in her lap and she was sobbing like her soul had been shattered.

Stepping just out of sight behind the SUV, Rigsby called Lisbon's desk phone. "I don't think Grace will be working today. It looks like she got some bad news, and if I had to pull a Jane and guess, I'd say somebody died."

"OK." There was a long muffled pause, where Lisbon probably had her hand over the phone and was talking to Jane and Cho, then she came back " Take Van Pelt home."

"Sure thing boss." Rigsby hung up.

Lisbon called back immediately. "And Rigsby, stay with her if she needs it." She hung up before he could reply.

Rigsby rounded the corner of the SUV again to study Grace. He really wasn't exactly sure how to handle her. She was really fairly private, so he didn't think she would much respond to comfort from him.

Feeling like he was walking on eggshells, he approached her door. She looked up at him with puffy, waterlogged eyes, but didn't acknowledge him further. "I take it you got some bad news?"

Grace sniffed, but didn't say anything. Rigsby's stomach knotted. God, he hoped he was doing the right thing. "Scoot over then, and I'll take you home."

Grace choked on another sob but obeyed, crawling very ungracefully over the center console. She had enough presence of mind to buckle up, but curled up in the bucket seat facing away from Rigsby. Her arms were wrapped around her middle and her knees were tucked tight against her chest like it was the only thing holding her together.

Rigsby slid into the drivers seat and found the keys still in the ignition. It only took a quick adjustment of the seat for him to be on his way.

It only took a few minutes to drive the 6 miles to Grace's house. Rigsby parked in her driveway and walked around to open her car door. She looked up in watery surprise at her garage. "You know where I live?" It was the first he'd heard her speak, and her voice was hoarse from crying.

"I know where everybody lives."

Grace accepted his answer with only a twitch of her eyebrow, and slowly uncurled from her seat. Leading the way to her front door, he unlocked it and followed her inside.

Grace's house was small, a two bedroom, two bathroom granny flat built on the back corner of a large sub-divided lot. The yard was the size of a postage stamp. The interior of the house was deceptively large and spacious.

Grace stumbled through the front door, kicking off her shoes as she went. She picked up a framed photograph off a long narrow table that made up the entryway as she headed straight back to her bedroom. Her crying subsided slightly during the drive home, but picked back up again as she collapsed on her bed, clutching the frame to her chest.

Rigsby sat down on her couch to think. He knew he was supposed to take care of her, but what was he supposed to do? He didn't know much about crying jags, or how to make them more tolerable. He did know that when he was very upset or angry, he always got a headache, and his stomach hurt from the tension and forgetting to eat. Figuring that was as good a basis as any, Rigsby proceeded to root through Grace's fridge and cupboards to put together an easy snack. She had all the fixings for PB&J sandwiches, including milk. That should be easy on a tight stomach right? And if she got sick, it was easy enough to get rid of.

After making her a sandwich and pouring a glass of milk, he went to her bathroom. She didn't even notice him walk through. Committing the ultimate invasion of privacy, Rigsby opened her medicine cabinet, searching for pain killers. Glancing through her shelves, he breathed a sigh of relief. She was as meticulously organized at home as she was at work. Rigsby picked up a bottle of Tylenol and set it on her bed side table. Then he went to the kitchen and came back with her sandwich and drink.

Grace was curled up in fetal position around the picture frame, crying raw violent tears. He trailed his fingers over her arm to get her attention. She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Eat, drink. Take something for your head. Then you can cry yourself to sleep."

Grace obliged him by propping herself up on her elbow, and tossing back two pain pills. She lay back down without touching the sandwich.

"Eat." He said, more forcefully this time. Grace glared at him but picked up the sandwich and took a bite anyways.

"-appy?" she mumbled, with her mouth full, and voice hoarse.

"Satisfied."

Rigsby turned and walked away closing the bedroom door behind him, leaving Grace to her grief.

Uncertain what to do with himself for the next several hours, Rigsby set about exploring Grace's small house. Her furniture was fairly plain and understated. She had a large comfy looking 3 seater sofa in brown denim, and a coordinated brown and cream striped recliner that was obviously her favorite place to sit. Flat screen TV, not the largest on the market, but not the smallest either, 2 bookcases packed with paperback novels, and 2 DVD cases overflowing with movies and TV shows. There was a sewing table with a machine on it underneath a window, and a very fluffy blue tortoise shell cat sleeping in a pile of scrap fabric. Her sofa was in the middle of the room, and the long narrow table loaded with photos was behind it.

Rigsby didn't have Jane's mad skills at observing people and finding the discrepancies, but give him a crime scene and he could put Jane to shame. He'd learned to analyze scenes and piece them together when they were nothing but charred rubble, bulldozed over by a fire crew. Put him in a pristine location and the evidence jumped out and almost screamed at him. Rigsby headed back to the front door to see if he could figure out what had Grace so torn up. She'd picked up a photo from the end of the table, that seemed as good a place to start as any.

The table was full of photographs of Grace and another woman, her sister, judging by the incredibly strong resemblance. It appeared Grace had organized the photos in rough chronological order, so he started perusing the ones of her childhood.

Grace's sister was younger, but not by much. She was a little shorter and chubbier than Grace, but beyond that they could have passed for twins. There were photos of the girls at the beach as toddlers, Grace's kindergarten promotions, birthday parties, peewee cheerleading. As they got older Rigsby could see Grace evolving a style different from her sister. Grace was in Color Guard, her sister did cheerleading in middle school and high school. Grace was a devilishly cute kid, but her teenage years weren't kind to her. The foundation for Grace's beauty was all there, high cheekbones, full lips, the beginnings of an hourglass figure. But she was tall, coltish and gangly, while her sister stayed short, and pixie cute. It obviously took a while for Grace to fill out around her broad shoulders and wide hips. Further down the table, there were more adult photos, of Grace graduating from college, then in the police academy. There were several photos of her sister's wedding, apparently a young bride, no more than 21 or 22 years old.

Rigsby picked up a photo of Grace in a bridesmaids dress. She was beautiful, her face alight with unfettered glee. He could understand now why Grace was not vain and rather insisted on being regarded for her brains first and her beauty second. She hadn't grown into her good looks until the end of college. There were a few more photos of various Christmas parties they'd attended together, and one of them standing together in front of the CBI building. He guessed that must have been when she first got hired.

Then he came to a group of photos that appeared to be very recent, and taken in rather quick succession. Grace sitting next to her sister, kissing her very flat belly. Grace hugging her sister, pulling a dress down taut on her belly, the very beginnings of a pregnancy bump showing. The girls together in a baby store, squeezed together in an enormous rocking chair, her sister;s pregnancy definitely showing, but still fairly small. Tucked in the corner was a small sonogram photo showing an enormous head.

Grace and her sister lounging around a pool eating ice cream, her sister heavily pregnant. In this last photo, Rigsby recognized the light jacket Grace was wearing. She'd bought it maybe six weeks ago or so, in Ventura, when they'd been sent down to investigate a series of date rapes. He remembered because her jacket had been ruined and she made him stop at a boutique on the way back to the hotel so she could buy the one in the photograph. Her sister was may six or so months along in this photo.

By the gap in the frames, Rigsby guessed Grace must have grabbed the most recent photo she had of her pregnant sister. His stomach roiled into a hard knot at the implications. He checked on her again to see that she was asleep, then went to the front porch to call Lisbon.

Lisbon picked up on the second ring. "Hi Rigsby. How is Van Pelt."

"Uh, she's asleep at the moment. Boss…do you know anything about her sister being pregnant?"

"Yeah, they had the baby shower last weekend maybe, I think. Why?"

"Um, did you happen to know when her sister was due.?"

"Not for another month or two at least. Van Pelt put in to take some time off for the birth. Is everything OK?"

"I don't think so. She's not exactly talking, but I think something happened either to her sister or the baby. I'm pretty sure one of them died, I just don't know which."

Rigsby heard Lisbon utter a rough prayer. "I'll take care of the paperwork for her bereavement leave." Rigsby heard more mumbling. "Cho, Jane and I can handle the case we got today without you for now. I'll drop off your files so you can finish with your part of the reports on our way out."

"Come on, boss." Rigsby whined.

"She's sleeping. And while she doesn't need you, you get to finish your work."

Rigsby growled into the phone, and he could practically hear Lisbon smiling at his exasperation. "Fine, see you in a while." He closed his phone with a hard snap.

Rigsby went back in the house. He was probably going to be here all day, and possibly well into the evening, depending on Grace, and he had a few requirements, namely food. Grace was thin, healthy and into yoga, so he doubted she had much in the way of man munchies.

Rigsby spent the next hour carefully and quietly raiding Grace's kitchen. She was well equipped, and decently well stocked if he was willing to make some concessions. He hated whole grain tortillas, but whole grain bread made for tolerable grilled cheese sandwiches. He made himself a sandwich to tide himself over, then pulled out her stock pot to start making one of the few recipes he was really really good at, stew and dumplings. Yes, he only had low fat, low sodium stock to work with, but at least he found the salt and butter to put an end to that.

Cho and Jane arrived at the door while he was fishing around for a can opener, and Jane couldn't resist making a comment about how at home he looked surrounded by Grace's things. Cho handed Rigsby his files, and a laptop with a sardonic "don't spill," then corralled Jane out the door.

Rigsby whiled away at least an hour putting around Grace's kitchen, but there came a point where there was nothing left for him to do except let the stew simmer for several hours, and get on with his paperwork. Resigning himself to hours of boredom, he settled down in Grace's ridiculously comfortable couch and flipped open the laptop.

Several hours, and several more files later, Grace emerged from her room looking like she'd been hit in the face. Her eyes were puffy and red, her nose was raw and her lips were chapped. Grateful for the distraction, despite the bad circumstances, Rigsby drank in the sight of her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, reluctant to intrude on her grief. She kinda scrunched her face and shook her head in response. "Go take a shower. Your outside will feel slightly better at least. I got dinner started." Grace raised her eyebrows and looked in the kitchen. The steaming stock pot seemed to satisfy her, as she turned around and headed back to her room.

He heard the shower turn on in short order, and didn't bother to restrain himself for one second from picturing her naked, wet, and soapy. She wore figure hugging clothes so her shape wasn't much of a mystery, but there was plenty still left to the imagination. She had some of the typical red head freckles, on her arms. He wondered where else she had freckles and savored the idea of kissing every single one.

Much sooner than he expected, and before he had time to cut off his fantasy and compose himself, Grace was back, wearing green cotton pajama pants and a Green Bay Packers knit cotton tank top that clung to her damp skin. To hell with the Bronco's, he became an instant cheesehead.

"Can you turn on the game?" were the first word he'd heard her speak, and he was somewhat startled by their clarity.

"What game?"

"It's Monday. What game do you think?" she snarked.

Oh, right. He'd forgotten about that "You watch football?"

"Duh, Dad is a coach. Was raised with it." Feeling like an idiot for forgetting that, especially since he'd seen her in action before, Rigsby grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

"Isn't it a little early, or do you watch all that pre-game cra…uh, stuff" Shoot, he better watch his mouth. He'd already pissed her off once by dismissing yoga.

"I have satellite, so everything is 3 hours early." Grace flitted around her kitchen, lifting the lid off the pot and sniffing, drinking milk right out of the carton, grapping a handful of pretzels. "What's the score.?"

Tearing his eyes away from her, he focused on the screen. "seven minutes into the first, no score, second and six, Chargers ball." San Diego was playing Oakland. The barest hint of a smile flitted across Grace's lips for the first time that day.

Well at this rate, he wasn't going to be paying attention to his paperwork with the game on and Grace looking so damn sexy. He handed her the remote and stretched out on the couch, sinking into the overstuffed cushions.

Rigsby didn't notice it getting dark, or how hungry he was, or how good the food smelled. But he did notice that Grace kept scooting a little closer to him every she shifted on the couch. Entranced by the curve of her breast in the tank top, not confined by a bra, he blinked hard when he saw a drop fall down and land on her chest. She was crying again, slow silent tears, the kind that come from a memory that can't be stopped.

He reached out and squeezed her hand, uncertain of how much comfort or contact she would accept from him. He froze when she scooted closer, then lay down next to him, tucked tight between him and the couch. She slid her arm under his waist and wrapped her leg over his thigh, settling her head on his chest, right over his heart. Rigsby shifted his arm to wrap around her, cuddling her in close.

Rigsby couldn't believe this was happening. He could _not_ believe this was happening. He could not _believe_ this was happening. He could not believe _**THIS**_ was happening. The woman he loved but couldn't figure out how to tell her, had wrapped herself around him and was cuddled against his chest. He was never going to move, he was never going to wash this shirt, he wouldn't even breathe so long as she stayed where she was.

Willing his heart to slow down, and the half erection that sprung up from her free swinging boobies to go down, Rigsby lay there taking it all in. She was so warm, still slightly damp from her shower. Her skin was deliciously soft and smooth under his hand. Her leg was heavy across his thigh, her bare toes tucked under his calf to stay warm. Her arm was in a comfortable spot under his back and he could feel her thumb tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Grace drew in a ragged breath, nuzzling her cheek into his chest, and he noticed that his shirt was getting wet. It had never had just a noble job before, soaking up Grace's tears, and if Jane could have read his thoughts just now, he would have a field day. Since when did he become so dramatic? But back to the crying part…

"Grace?" he whispered softly, mindful that her ear was against his chest, and his voice would be doubly loud.

"I used ….to listen to my sister's belly…. to try to hear my nephew's heartbeat. I went…I went with her….to the appointment when ah… we ah….found out he was a boy, and I heard…I heard his heart for the first time" Grace's words were rough and halting. "I could always hear her heart beat, slow and heavy, like yours….and I could hear him swimming around in there. He kicked me in the ear once."

Rigsby's heart faltered at where he was sure this was going. "She went into preterm labor Saturday night, nine weeks early."

"Is your sister OK?"

"No, she's not. She hemorrhaged badly, but they managed to stop the bleeding. On Sunday night, a clot dislodged and got stuck in her brain. They gave her the clot busting drugs, but it started the bleeding again. She's being transfused again. There is nothing I can do. I've already given her all the blood I can. She's real touch and go right now. My brother in law said the doctors would rather have her bleed and replace it than risk brain damage."

"That has to be very troubling."

"No shit. I don't…I…" Grace's voice caught on renewed tears. "I can't stand to lose them both."

"Your nephew?" Rigsby couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence.

Grace nodded into his chest "Even with all the machines he was hooked up to, his heart stopped. And they couldn't….he couldn't…."

Tears were welling up in Rigsby's eyes now. "Oh Grace…I hurt for you."

Grace was crying again in earnest now, but not as hard as earlier. Rigsby held her close and handed her tissues, surreptitiously wiping his own eyes. Her gazed was blankly focused on the TV as her grief washed over her again.

She didn't calm down again until half time. By then Rigsby's shirt was completely drenched. His arm was asleep, his stomach had been growling for the last hour, and he had to pee like nobody's business, but he didn't want to move and let her go. They stayed like that, wrapped around each other until three minutes left in the third quarter. Then Rigsby's stomach let out a particularly loud rumble, and Grace giggled.

"I guess Jane was right after all."

"well he often is, but don't tell him if he isn't around to see for himself. No need to add to that ego." Rigsby could feel Grace's lips curl against his chest.

"Wayne?" Grace lifted her head to look straight at him. Rigsby met her eyes and about choked at what he thought he saw there.

"Hmmm" was all he could manage to get out.

"Thank you." Oh, it was gratitude. _Damnit_

"You're welcome, but umm, for what in particular?"

"For saying that you hurt for me….instead of 'I'm sorry'"

"Oh…you're welcome."

Rigsby's stomach growled again, he was starting to get just a little light headed from hunger. And if he didn't get to the bathroom soon, he was gonna embarrass himself.

Attempting to distract himself from his insistent bladder Rigsby asked "what was Jane right about?"

Grace propped her chin on Rigsby's chest and pinned him in her gaze "You do love me."

Thump – thump. Rigsby's heart jumped so hard Grace's chin moved with it. He gulped loud enough that she heard it through his chest "Um…what gave it away?" That was admitting to it right? If asked, he could say he admitted his feelings right? Right?

"Your stomach has been growling for hours now, and I know you have to go to the bathroom."

"Uh, yeah."

"But you _don't…_ want to let me go, more than you _do _want to eat?" The way she said it, raising her pitch at the end of the sentence, sounded like she was very afraid she was wrong.

Rigsby squeezed her in tight to his side, and met her eyes. "Yeah, that's about right."

Grace smiled and moved her leg off Rigsby's thighs. "Then how 'bout I give you a break, and in return you can feed me."

As soon as her thumb was free of his waistband, Rigsby bolted for the bathroom. When he came back, he found that Grace had pulled out bowls and silverware, and started pouring them drinks. He quickly whipped up and dropped in the dumplings, then set the lid back on for them to steam. They needed to cook for 15 minutes, so he settled back on the couch in his previous position. Grace wasted no time wrapping herself back around him again, and Rigsby didn't have a single complaint in the world about that.

The fourth quarter of the game was decidedly boring. Down, Down down, Punt. Run the opposite direction and repeat. The Chargers were losing abysmally and it wasn't even fun to watch. This left his mind free to notice every little movement Grace made against his side as she got herself comfortable again.

She settled a little higher against his chest, her head right under his chin. Her thumb was tucked deeper in his waistband, in fact if what he felt was correct, she had a pretty good handful of his pants. Her leg was across his thighs again, but she's wrapped her foot all the way back under his calf, gently but effectively pinning him against her. That was all very fine with him. The sensation had come back to his arm, and he could once again feel how soft her skin was.

While watching replay after replay of a questionable two point conversion – not that Oakland needed it – Rigsby felt Grace tilt her face up in his direction. He looked back to find her staring at his mouth. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. An odd expression danced across her face, it almost looked like she might be nervous.

Rigsby suspicions were confirmed when he felt her heart speed up.

"Wayne?" Her voice was more tentative than he'd heard in a long time. "will you stay?"

"As long as you want me to" His answer was low and rough, betraying his lust.

She inched a little higher up his side, bring her enticing lips closer. Her eyes were wide with fear and…he didn't dare to hope. "The night?" she uttered, in barely a whisper, staring at his mouth again.

Rigsby traced the fingers of his free hand through her hair, tangling them in at the nape of her neck. He inched down the couch a little further, and cuddled her in closer, bringing her even higher up his chest and in range for some serious kissing. The hand in his waist band clenched into a tight little fist, her other hand slid up and around his shoulder.

"Of course." His lips brushed against hers in answer. Grace caught his lips in a delicious slow kiss. She sucked on his lower lip, testing the firm texture of it. With his hand in her hair, Rigsby angled her head to deepen the kiss. He felt like he was on fire when he tasted the passion and eagerness on her tongue. His body instantly clenched with painful lust, which Grace did not help by crawling on top of him. His hand tightened in her hair. Grace let out a ragged moan and sucked on his tongue in response. She left him gasping for air.

When he broke contact to suck in a much needed breath, Grace backed off ever so slightly. She backed off even more when they both noticed the rattling of the pot lid, reminding them of something else simmering in the house, waiting to be devoured.

"Wow" Grace let out on a breathy sigh.

"Huh" Rigsby had been reduced to caveman speak.

"That wasn't quite what I imagined for our first kiss."

Rigsby smiled at her romantic notions. She might be a cop, and a smart tough on at that, but Grace was still such a woman. "Second."

"Second what?"

"Second kiss. Though the first wasn't what I imagined it would be either."

It took a second for his words to sink in but he could tell when they did because her expression shifted from banked passion to an outraged glare, and she hammered a small fist against his chest.

"You DO remember, you jackass!" Grace yelled at him.

Rigsby's face split into an ear to ear grin as he slid out from underneath her and bolted for the kitchen to rescue himself and the dumplings.

fin


End file.
